


Doctor Who: One Shots

by 5ColorsInMyLife



Series: Doctor Who: One Shots [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-06-12 02:57:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15330219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5ColorsInMyLife/pseuds/5ColorsInMyLife
Summary: A collection of Doctor Who One Shots I've been writing throughout the years.





	1. The Fifteenth Incarnation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (This was written when Matt Smith was still playing The Doctor, and this short story is clearly just an original idea of mine with an original regeneration of the Doctor, before Peter Capaldi's time on the show).

I hardly ever remember my past as clearly as people believe. They must not understand that living a long, pointless and lonely life is anything but simple. For instance, you have the multiple faces and appearances that always take you by surprise. By that, I mean that you are not prepared, you barely even realise it is too late and that death is just around the corner. And then comes the part where you have to deal with these changes all by yourself. You have to calm yourself down because you're disoriented, lost, and frightened to bits. You thought you knew your own mind and body and then you prove yourself wrong. You know nothing at all, and frustration gets to you. And the same happens, over and over again. You barely have enough time to adjust to the man you've become, before that person fades again and you're back to square one. It's like someone pressed the reset button for you.

I never asked to turn into a new man, I loved the mad and childish side of me. It was my eleventh form, or as others may say; incarnation. I admit I was very energetic at that time, and I could barely stay in one place for more than two minutes. But beneath the surface, I was the most frightening of all the men I ever was. I would do things out of rage, and I needed a friend to remind me it was not the right way to proceed. Under all these layers of happiness and silliness, I was a monster. The worst about it all? I loved being him.

Not once did I think that what would take me, him, the Eleventh, to the grave was the love and affection I had for the only one that had conquered my heart...

She was the definition of perfection itself. Her smooth skin and velvet lips would give me shivers every time my fingertips or my lips dared to touch them. Her eyes contained mysteries of their own, and I often lost myself by gazing at them for too long. Her hair was as light and tender as a breeze that would caress your cheek. Ever since I lost her, along with the very little sanity I had, the blurry yet persistent memory of her in my mind was what kept me going this whole time. And I often find myself whispering her name without a pause in this dark room, which is empty, yet full of memories.

If I'm correct, and I doubt I am, I am now the Fifteenth. I do not know how long I have been in this room, but I have not left it once since the day I gave her up. I cannot see a thing, but I hear voices. Her voice is the most distinct and powerful one of them, and I often forget it's only my imagination, and that she's not here. I'm afraid of the dark and what it contains, but I'm even more afraid of myself. I do not wish to meet the man I have become if I were to leave this room; I keep myself locked up for this reason. Time does not exist in my ship, but my eyes have been welcoming the dark for what felt like millennia.

At times, I am convinced I'm not alone. Someone else is there. They laugh, they speak, but most of the time, they scream. I think that Eleven is here with me, at the other end of the room, yelling things like the madman he always was deep down. But then realisation strikes me, and I understand that the sounds come from me. The monster is not gone, he's still in me.

My eleventh self was without a doubt the one that lasted the longest. What happened precisely is still a blur, but I know the TARDIS was involved. And I will always fail to ask her what she can remember of that day. From my point of view, it was sudden and unexpected. But if you consider the fact that she'll always protect her thief, even from his own foolishness, it's not so hard to understand her choice.

Eleven was untiring. He kept shouting like something had possessed him, even when his lungs were burning from the lack of air. His cheeks were always stained with tears, even when he could not remember crying. His knuckles were broken from the countless times he had banged his fists against the wall. At some point, he had thrown his bow tie across the room and spent the next hours looking for it like a lost child looking for its mother. It was a pathetic, yet devastating view for the TARDIS. And that is, I think, what brought her to put the madman out of his own misery.

I do not blame her. I know the guilt is slowly consuming her. It was an impossible choice to make, and she must have thought it would help. It took a lot of patience, but the fifteenth form I have now acquired is somehow different. I cannot define him. I cannot say I am prepared. But he's new and undeniably curious. However, there's one thing he's certain of; these walls and their darkness will not determine his future. 


	2. Rule Number One (11th Doctor)

There was this man known as The Doctor. If anyone knew what loneliness was, it was him. In fact, some even referred to him as the lonely God.

He had lost so much... The time where he was surrounded by his friends was long gone. Oh the good old days... he missed them all dearly. It hurt even more to think that most of his friends were forever lost because of him. The lucky ones left before it was too late. But then unfortunately some died. And a few didn't even remember him. He had the biggest ship in the universe but had no longer someone to share it with...

Silence filled the control room as the Doctor was leaning against the console thoughtfully. His ship, the TARDIS, wasn't as fast and strong as she once used to be. As for the Doctor, he could regenerate into a young man but he'd still look a thousand years old because he was tired. So very tired.   
  
"Never growing old isn't as wonderful as you may think." He muttered to himself, knowing perfectly well he was on his own.   
  
"In fact, no one ever asked me but..." He smiled slightly. "...I'd give anything to live a normal human life right now." He sighed and scratched the back of his head.   
  
He was never going to have a wife at his side until the end of his days, let alone children.   
  
"That's the curse of being a Time Lord." He stood up straight again and fixed his bow tie. Even that had become a simple reflex.

The TARDIS was floating through Space. Not far away from there, a gigantic star was burning up. The Doctor knew he soon had to move as the shield was slowly going down. He admired the view through the screen and thought of how breathtaking it was.

"Too bad I never took anyone here." He mumbled regretfully.

A red light slowly started flickering on the console, immediately followed by an alert sign showing up on the screen, but instead of piloting the ship away from the burning star, The Doctor gently patted the console.

"I'm sorry, old girl." He whispered.

He moved away from the console without pressing a single button or pulling down any lever. This time, he felt the tears coming out of his eyes and streaming down his face. He thought about everything and everyone that had made his life worth living. He closed his eyes and saw the faces of all his faithful friends. But then came the other thoughts... Those that made him truly believe he never deserved to live. No one had ever done as many gruesome things as he had. Those memories had been so heavy to carry throughout his life...

 If there was one thing he had learned, it was that you could never do something good without something bad happening.

He walked towards the door, taking one last look around the room. He wasn't sad, not more than usual. If he had to choose a word to describe how he felt, he'd pick  _relieved_. Relieved, because he knew it was time. He'd often thought he'd die at someone's mercy, taking his friends down with him. But  _this_  was the right way. No one would win or lose. And no one needed him anymore anyway.

The TARDIS was going mad. It was boiling in the console room. The burning star wasn't that far away now. If he could just have one last look at it... Then he'd leave, then he'd go back and apologise to the TARDIS for doing that to her.

He opened the door and looked in front of him. It was absolutely beautiful. He'd stay there forever, but the shield was going down in Ten seconds.

Nine. The Doctor enjoyed the view.

Eight. It felt like something new.

Seven. He thought of the old days.

Six. And all he'd lost along the way.

Five. A single tear fell from his eye.

Four. Now it was time to close the door.

Three. But What's Rule Number One?

Two. The Doctor always lies.

One. And now it's time to go.

 "Geronimo."


	3. Goodbye, Ponds.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short story from Eleven's point of view, right after losing Amy and Rory in the Angels Take Manhattan.

The TARDIS had been parked outside of Amy and Rory’s house for quite some time now. It had appeared a few minutes –or maybe hours – ago, but still no funny-looking madman had come out of it.  
No one had really noticed it, of course. The odd looks the blue box did receive were mere glances from passers-by, who shrugged off its strange position, in the middle of the pavement, as though it had always been there, even if they knew perfectly well that it hadn’t.  
  
There was no one left to wonder about it.  
No one left to run up to it and yell his name with excitement.  
  
And still… He knew that he had come here for a reason. A reason he would not yet dare to explore in its depth, due to everything still being too recent, too vivid; but also, a reason he could not simply brush off.  
  
It took him a few times to get it right, with his feet leading him towards the door, only to always swiftly lead him back to the console. It angered him. His own indecisiveness angered him.  
  
He could not fly away, but neither could he step outside.  
  
“Doctor, /D o c t o r/.” He mumbled impatiently through gritted teeth. With his palms gripping the edge of the console, he lowered his gaze.  
  
Didn’t they deserve better than this from him?  
  
Of course, they did. A million times. Waiting wasn’t going to change anything. Waiting was only going to make it harder.  
  
He took a deep breath.  
  
Once again, he stood up straight and turned around to face the door. It wasn’t so dreadful. It really wasn’t. He just had to think it long enough.  
  
“Come on, Doctor.” He murmured, a sad, nervous smile touching the corner of his lips.  
  
He straightened his bowtie, the way he always did when there was nothing left for him to do but to face something head-on. He took a few, hesitant steps without trying to overthink them, and before his anxious hearts had the opportunity to lead him right back to the console, he pushed the doors open and hastily walked out.  
  
His smile would have grown a little, if only his small victory hadn’t so quickly lost its appeal the moment their house had come into view. It really was dreadful after all.  
  
It took another few careful steps for him not to stay frozen there, on the pavement, while his whirling mind was already coming to the conclusion that he did not, in fact, need to see inside.  
  
“Shut up. Just shut up.”  
  
He clenched his hands into fists, anxious fingers tugging at the sleeves of his tweed jacket. There was something so familiar about standing there and nervously gazing at the front door, if he ignored the heaviness. How many times had he not come here after months or years of absence, wondering if it would be safe enough to knock on their door, or if he had better first take something to protect himself with, in case his clumsy apologies would not be enough?  
  
He let out a frustrated sigh and hit his forehead with his palm.   
  
“What part of /shut up/ did you not understand?!”  
  
With a low grumble, he finally made his way towards the door; being angry with himself distracted him long enough to do this.   
But unlike any other time, knocking wouldn’t do. He held his screwdriver to the lock, already feeling too much like a burglar, though he didn't glance around him, in case someone could see him. Curious people were the least of his worries.  
  
When he finally heard a ‘click’, slowly, very slowly, he gave the door a small push, until it creaked open and revealed the small, familiar corridor of his friends' home.The way the narrow passage, along with its adjacent rooms, was plunged into darkness was enough for the Doctor to know that it had been silly of him to expect Amy, or Rory, to suddenly appear and pull him into a welcoming hug. Not that he could have done anything about those vain hopes.   
  
Maybe this was the reason why he had felt so compelled to come here. To let it sink in. To let it hurt. Instead of pushing it away until he felt like dealing with it, which meant – never. Most likely, then, until it would all eventually have come crashing down.   
  
His feet slowly led him to the living room, and even if there was no one home, or maybe exactly /because/ there was no one home, he felt like he was intruding. This wasn't the home he knew anymore. He had truly done a great job at convincing himself that it would never actually come to this with them.  
  
He looked around the room without daring to make any swift or sudden movement, knowing that he had already overstayed his welcome. He found himself wishing that he hadn’t dropped River off at the University before coming here, although he would not have dared to ask. She would have wanted to be alone, too, and he could never blame her for this.  
He swallowed thickly at the thought of her, guilt seeping in instantly, before he could stop himself from going /there/. From the moment Amy and Rory had left, and even before that… she had not once wished to inconvenience him with sentimentality. She had spared him, even at the expense of her own feelings, even though it had been /her/ parents all along. And there was nothing The Doctor could do now but let the anger rise inside of him, although he could not pretend that any of it was truly directed at her. Not her. Never her. He had caused her enough grief already.  
  
He interrupted his own train of thoughts with a swift shake of his head before he would go too far, and moved towards the couch, carefully sitting down on the edge. He stayed there for a while, elbows on his knees and his hand supporting his chin. Maybe if he waited long enough, the familiarity of the place would come back to him. If he tried hard enough, they would appear to him. Maybe the walls still carried echoes of their laughter.   
  
But... nothing.  
  
There was nothing.  
  
The air was too suffocating.  
  
The room was too quiet.  
  
Too devoid of life.  
  
Without Amy and Rory.


End file.
